


Mirage

by dorkilysoulless (custodian)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Episode: s02e20 What Is and What Should Never Be, F/M, Gen, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 21:06:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2402888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/custodian/pseuds/dorkilysoulless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Winchester's life is all planned out.  He's doing well in his program at Stanford, he's engaged to the love of his life, and he's looking forward to starting a family.  And then Dean dies under bizarre circumstances.  The official line?  Dean took his life during a drug-induced psychotic break.  But Sam knows what he saw.  Monsters are real.  </p><p>(What-if reversal of the events of 2x20, in which Dean's wishverse is the real world.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mirage

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a fill for [Hellatus Prompt Fic Tuesday](http://itfeltpurefic.tumblr.com/hellatus) on my Tumblr blog.

The official story is simple: Dean had a drug-induced psychotic break, drove them to Illinois, and killed himself.

It is, on its surface, true. The last 24 hours of Dean’s life were marked by what can only be described as a total personality transplant and a whole lot of memory loss. And, well breaking into their mother’s house to steal a silver knife before driving to Illinois to face off with an actual monster.

_Monsters are real._

It’s not like he plans to kill the djinn. Dean’s limp in his arms, and there’s blood everywhere, and he can’t find his phone because Dean threw the damn thing out the window on the way here, and oh god, let this be a mistake, or some horrible, elaborate prank…

And then the thing grabs him by the shoulder and Sam panics. He grabs the knife by reflex, and buries it in the thing’s throat.

It doesn’t die. It slows down, but no lamb’s blood, no kill.

What happens after is a blur. He remembers scrambling back, finding the jar, and the djinn knocking it out of his hand. He doesn’t quite remember grabbing the knife again or dragging it over bloody concrete, but he’ll never forget the flare of light that goes out of the djinn’s eyes as its blood flows out over his fist.

He pushes out from underneath the body and finds Dean’s phone. Calls 911.

By the time the paramedics show up, he’s sobbing and sticky with drying blood. He spends the next 48 hours trying desperately to explain himself to the police, and then defending his brother when the cops decide that maybe Dean had something to do with a nearly-dead girl and a bunch of desiccated bodies.

Of course, there’s no case to make. They’ve got nothing on Dean, and between his schedule at the garage and Carmen, Dean’s alibi is air-tight. And, well, Sam lives in Palo Alto. Law school doesn’t exactly leave him a lot of time to play serial killer half a country away.

They let him go. The coroner releases Dean’s body the next day.

Mary — their mother — insists on cremation. “As soon as possible,” she tells the funeral director over the phone. He’s never seen her so insistent. He doesn’t understand it. All he knows is that when he asks her why they’re doing this in Illinois instead of taking Dean’s body back to Lawrence for a real funeral, there’s something weird and awful in her eyes.

It reminds him of Dean.

Not regular Dean. Final-day-of-his-life Dean.

He catches her in the motel hallway that night, completely by accident. He can’t sleep, and Jess is out like a light, so he pulls on his shoes and a jacket to go for a run and finds her with a duffle over her arm, dressed in Army surplus gear.

“Mom?”

“Go back to bed, Sam,” she tells him, but he doesn’t. This is too familiar. Too soon.

He grabs her wrist. It’s small in his hand. She’s so tiny now, compared to him. Smaller now, he thinks, with Dean gone.

She pulls out of his grip and pushes him back so fast he nearly stumbles. “I said go back to bed, Sam.”

“No.”

“Sam Winchester, you are an adult, but I am your mother and—”

He draws a shaky breath. “You’re going after it.”

She stops short, looks at him with an expression he’s never seen. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The djinn. The one Dean tried to kill.”

“You brother had a…” she hesitates. “He had some kind of break. He wasn’t okay those last nights. You know that. Whatever he told you—”

“Was true, mom,” he says and puts his hands on her shoulders. “I saw it. I…I killed it.”

“How—” His mother looks at him, stunned. “How did you—”

“Silver knife. Lamb’s blood.”

His mother closes her eyes and lowers her head. All at once, the strength goes out of her, and Sam practically has to hold her up as he pulls her into a hug.

“It’s okay, mom,” he tells her, and smooths her hair with his hand. It’s a lie, but what else is he supposed to say?

# # #

He and Jess stay an extra six days. Dean’s memorial is depressingly small, and he knows almost none of the people in attendance beyond family. He sits on the sidelines, helps Jess as she takes care of Mary and Carmen, and wonders how he drifted so far.

That night, he drinks more than he should. Jess holds him, reassures him, but he’s sinking.

“I could have saved him,” he tells her, over and over. “If I’d been a better brother—”

“You did everything you could, Sam.”

“Did I?”

His dreams are haunted by bloody hands and glowing eyes.

# # #

The night before he and Jess fly back to Palo Alto, Sam finds his mom sitting at the kitchen table with a mug in her hands.

“Can’t sleep either?” he asks, and pulls a glass from the cupboard.

She shrugs and gives him a sad smile. Theirs is still a house in mourning. The fridge is full of well-intentioned post-funeral casserole. Sam scoots a chair next to hers, sits, and puts an arm around her shoulders. “I don’t have to go tomorrow. The library at KU is pretty solid, and my advisor—”

“No, no.” His mother shakes her head. “You have school, and Carmen and I can handle Dean’s things together.”

“I’m not worried about his stuff.” He gives her a squeeze. “I’m worried about you.”

She puts a hand on his and gives it a squeeze. “I’ll be okay.”

“Okay.”

They sit quietly, his mother sipping her tea while he swirls the ice water in his glass.

“Sam, I need you to make me a promise.”

He blinks, looks down at her. “Sure. Anything.”

“Whatever you did, whatever you saw with Dean? Forget it. Have a normal life. Marry Jess and finish school. Have a family. Go through your life without having to worry about what’s in the shadows.”

He draws in a breath. “Mom—”

“Don’t ‘mom’ me,” she says, and turns to face him. “Sam Winchester, I have worked so hard to give you both a real life. Don’t you dare undo that. I’ve already lost one son. Don’t make me lose you too.”

Sam frowns. There’s no way she could know what he’s been looking into these last couple of days. Martial arts lessons. Weird books on Amazon. Weirder websites.

“I could have saved him,” he whispers. “If I’d believed him. If I’d trusted him. I’d still have a brother if I’d known how. And this thing didn’t just go after Dean. It had that girl. And those bodies…”

She shakes her head. “It’s not your responsibility, Sam.”

“Not before, sure, but maybe it is now.”

His mother sighs, rests her elbows on the table, and cradles her face in her hands.

That’s all it takes for the last pieces fall together. Sam is sure now, without a shadow of a doubt, that his mother has hidden a million things from him. The hurt and anger is almost violent, like a knife in the guts.

“You knew. About the monsters. You knew. And you never taught us.”

“No, I didn’t,” she snaps. “And do you know why? Because I grew up in the life, and it is no way to raise a child. Christ, Sam. I was protecting you.”

He pushes away from the table. “Like you protected Dean?”

The keys to the rental are upstairs with Jess, but the keys to Dean’s Impala are in the bowl by the front door. Sam takes them and storms out into the night.

It’s been years since he sat behind the wheel of this car, but once the engine starts, he’s bowled over with memories. He remembers long drives in the summer, mom and dad in the front, him and Dean in the back, heading to some campground or weird roadside attraction.

He wonders if the army man is still stuck in the ashtray, or if Dean pried it loose at some point.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get to know you, man,” he says, and lets the tears fall. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

The Impala pulls away from the curb, smooth and powerful.

He can’t bring his brother back, but maybe he can make Dean’s death mean something.

It’s nearly dawn when he comes home. Jess is still asleep, and his mother is nowhere to be seen, but there’s a shoebox on the kitchen table with a yellow sticky note that simply says “SAM” in his mother’s writing.

Inside, he finds two small notebooks, both brittle with age. One is a blue leather diary with a lock on it. The other is a book of addresses, phone numbers, names.

# # #

Three weeks after he gets back to California, Sam signs up for Krav Maga lessons. He’s spoiled for choice in California, but traditional martial arts seem too formal, and he needs something that’ll help him learn to fight close and dirty with modern weapons.

He hides those in the trunk of the Impala. Dean’s silver necklace hangs from the rear view mirror. A reminder. Maybe a talisman.

Between Krav and mornings at the campus gym, he’s stronger than he’s ever been. Faster. And he’s been reading.

It’s surprisingly easy to hide _what_ he’s been reading from Jess — law school is books upon books — and while that troubles him a little, he’s not sure she won’t do the same thing he tried to do to Dean and call in the men with the white coats. Still, he feels like a hypocrite.

Jess should know, just like he and Dean should have known.

Soon, he tells himself for the hundredth time. If he’s going to spring the whole hunting thing on his fiancee, he’ll need to be able to prove it. In the meantime, he peppers their apartment with little charms and protective sigils. He cuts open the lining of her backpack and her purse and hides tiny hex bags inside.

Sam rubs his eyes and glances at the clock. It’s past midnight again. He tucks the grimoire he’s studying in under the false bottom of his file drawer, clicks out the desk lamp, and drags himself to bed.

When Jess nestles up against him in her sleep, he smiles and holds her close. He knows it won’t always be like this. He knows that every day that passes gets him closer to ready. That one of these nights he’ll see something in a newspaper and know that it’s time to start calling through that list of names his mother gave him.

He hopes Dean will be proud of him. He prays that it’ll be enough.


End file.
